


Sherlock Gender swap

by Saltganley



Series: Dreams [2]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Femlock, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltganley/pseuds/Saltganley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble from different POV in a genders warped Sherlock world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dr Martin Hooper

Martin was always better with dead people, with science, dead people where easy to work out. Alive people, well they didn't stay still long enough to work out. Nothing rang more true when a flash of a long coat and a mop of curly hair dashed past him towards the morgue. "Hey, I'm sorry who are you?" Martin managed to basically squeak out. Two amazing technicolor eyes suddenly bore into him, they flicked over his glasses which slid down his nose, his checked vest which was a little crumpled from been bent over the microscope most of the day and basic woollen brown pants that where somewhat too long and covered most of Martin's brown loafers. It wasn't until the perfect blow lips quirked into a small smirk did Martin notice a Scotland Yard badge was been wiggled in the air. "Oh, your DI Gretta Lestrade, I'll show you the body." Martin tripped over his own feet to show the beautiful DI into the morgue. The DI helped herself to a set of gloves as Martin stood beside the body, the DI studied the body mumbling as she went. Martin almost missed the question. "Did the tox screen come back with anything?" Those amazing eyes waiting for Martin to answer. "Yes, yes... Oh um cocaine. It, it triggered a myocardial infarction. Straight forward really." Martin tried to give the DI a confident smile. "Tell me Dr Hooper." The beautiful eyes and mouth prowls closer to Martin who grabbed the bench for support. "A teenaged girl with no heart disease in the family and no drug history. How did the cocaine get into the body? No track marks, no eye irritation, no nose irritation, none of the viable ways of getting the drug into her system show any signs of cocaine." The intense pressure of the DI so close made it impossible for Martin to think let alone reply. "I did a full body swab and I, I haven't found how the cocaine was administered." Martin tried to stand tall even thought the DI was a full head taller then him. "Is that her stomach contents?" She suddenly asked pointing towards the fridge. Martin could only nod in relief from that intense stare no longer pointed to him. The DI had the fridge open and the tub open before Martin could protest. Suddenly the DI was flickering around Martins lab and a cocaine testing bag turning bright blue was been shaking into the lab lamp. "What was that, where did you find it." Martin stared at the little blue bag. "Of course." The DI murmured dashing out of the lab leaving a mess for Martin to clean up. About two hours later just as Martin had worked it out, the cocaine was in the chewing gum the deceased had swallowed, a stressed out looking greying blonde woman and a frizzy haired man entered the Lab. "Can I help you?" Martin asked as they approached. "I'm DI Gretta Lestrade and this is Sargent Sam Donovan, we are here to see the body bought in early this morning." Martin looked between the two, only Sam had his badge out. "Lestrade did you say?" The blonde was frantically checking her pockets "yeah, I don't have my badge on me." Martin looked back at the lab. "Oh."


	2. DI Gretta Lestrade

DI Gretta Lestrade  
It had been one of those days, it started about 2am when her husband got home. Was that lipstick, no, he wouldn't do that. It's the job, the crime she is seeing everyday, the stress and the new promotion. Gretta had worked hard and been DI now was the fruits of that labour. Four hours later the alarm clock went off, Gretta tripped over her husbands boots at the end of the bed as he grumped about her been too loud. Gretta just sighed and headed down to make breakfast. A screaming match with her 12 year old who was not going to a party and the coffee maker giving out merely rounded up to a phone call to a dead teenage girl, after forbidding her daughter to go to the party, checking her pockets for her badge, wallet, phone and keys as she slammed the door and rushed to the scene. Of course it's was raining, what had Gretta really expected, it was London. In a dirty alleyway, far away from anywhere that would sell a decent breakfast, a teenaged girl was laying dead. Thankfully Sam handed her a coffee, it was cheap and nasty but it was coffee. "Anderson?" Gretta asked the forensic on scene. "Street girl, probably bad crack." Phillis Anderson sneered down at the girls body like it was wasting her time. "She's not a druggie." A voice from behind Gretta made them all look. A dirty looking girl was studying the dead girl, her riotous curls all over the place, her pale white skin with tinges of grey. "How did you get in here, get out kid!" Sam yelled at her, she rolled her eyes and giggled at him. "Please! She's not a druggie, it's obvious." Everyone looked at the girl as she huffed at them. "Oh for, those shoes, $2000 a pair, jewellery all Tiffany's exclusive range. Her hair and makeup was done mere hours ago and that dress is the latest season burnt pink been an exclusive release. No druggie would have those kinds of items still on them, can you imagine how much you could get by selling the shoes alone. Plus no trackmarks, no irritation around her nose and eyes." Gretta looked over the dead girl again, she was right, the deceased wasn't a street druggie. Under all the dirt that really did look quite fresh the dead girl had been well put together and some what familiar looking with no tell tale signs of a drug addiction. The girl standing beside Gretta looked much more like a druggie, in fact she still looked high. As Gretta turned to question the girl some more she realised she was gone and what looked like government officials heading their way. Well shit, just want she needed the boss breathing down her neck. After what seems like years later Gretta stepped out of the government mansion feeling like a bum herself, the dead girl was the pride and joy of two wealthy government officials, the Woods, who couldn't believe she had ODed on cocaine. Gretta been told in no uncertain terms that no one was to know the girl was a drug addict as not to damage the reputation of the parents. Gretta was starving and had a headache to boot but still something nagged at her. "Let's head to the morgue." Gretta suggested to Sam.


	3. Miss Mycroft Holmes

Miss Mycroft Holmes  
Mycroft sat at her desk watching the CCTV footage of the teen girl in the alleyway on repeat, it was a set up, she knew it. The girl was much too frigid and upperclass to even be in that area let alone high on cocaine. It reminded her too much of another girl who was out there high on cocaine. She had got the first car to the scene as soon as she heard, Mycroft was so close to letting out a sigh of relief when the dead girl had straight red hair instead of riotous dark curls. 'Sherlock, where are you?' Mycroft practically whispered to her computer, suddenly Anthony slammed the door open. "Miss Holmes, quickly, it's Sherlock!" Once out in the hallway sure enough Sherlock could be heard dressing down the security staff, Mycroft couldn't help but let her heart beat fast. Looking down into the foyer Sherlock was somewhat clean but her unsteadiness and simple deductions gave away that Sherlock was coming down. "Sherlock." Mycroft commanded he whole room. "Enough, upstairs." Sherlock swiped her coat around her, stuck her nose in the air and stormed off away from the disgruntled security guards. Mycroft although beyond pleased to see her sister alive didn't show anything as she sat at her desk again. Sherlock swanned in and gracefully abed unsteady slid into the chair at Mycroft's desk. She had cleaned herself up, not as well as she would have if she wasn't high but it was nice to see her alive, psychically clean. Mycroft tried hard not to think of all that had happened her younger sister out on the streets. There was still a faded hand print on the back of her neck and she was favouring her left leg. Mycroft managed to stop a shutter. "Sister mine?" Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at her sister as the door closed. "I want all the information you have on the Woods case." For once Mycroft was stunned. "Why?" She finally managed to ask. "I'm going to solve it, it was chewing gum, Mycroft. She was set up." Sherlock started flying around the room spurting details and half formed theories, it was making Mycroft dizzy. "Wait, Sherlock." She stopped and looked at her sister. "I'm not giving you confidential details so you can get cocaine in chewing gum." Mycroft spat. Sherlock gave Mycroft a dark look and stormed out of her office. "For the love of God." Mycroft rubbed her forehead. "Shall I follow her?" Anthony was at the door, Mycroft nodded. It wasn't long before Anthony returned having lost Sherlock again, he didn't have to say anything Mycroft knew. It was late that night the phone call Mycroft would never forget. "Miss Holmes, I'm DI Gretta Lestrade and your sister is at the hospital. She had ODed." Lestrade stayed with the Holmes sisters the whole night and next morning, when Sherlock finally woke up Lestrade made the offer the changed their lives.


	4. Mr Mortimer Hudson

Mr Mortimer Hudson  
Mortimer Hudson finally decided that he needed tenants, having a beautiful townhouse all to himself was great only it was so very quiet. With Mrs Hudson convicted and put to death for her crimes there where no more 'friends' of hers to chat to and he couldn't return to work as a baker as his damaged hip wouldn't allow that kind of work. Mr Turner, the smug bastard, always going on about his tenants and their unusual lifestyle as international jet setters, always bringing him things from all over the globe. Mr Hudson huffed, if Mr Turner had any idea the kind of life he lived in Florida it would probably turn his hair completely white. Mr Hudson chuckled to himself as he put a 'For Lease' sign in the front window. Quite a few people came and looked at the flats but none of them seemed quite right. He was just about to take the sign down when a knock at the door stopped him, on the footpath was none other then Sherlock Holmes. Pulling out all the stops for the woman who freed him, sitting at the dining room table She looked, clean, Mr Hudson couldn't help but comment. "Well, yes, I have been out of rehab for a month now but if I have to live with my sister another day I swear I'll relapse!' Sherlock huffed. "Well that's settled your moving in here." After a month Mr Hudson was getting used to the brilliant yet eccentric young lady but something was missing. "You should get a flatmate." Mr Hudson suggested one morning as Sherlock had been telling her skull that it was obvious that the uncle had killed the boy with weed killer because he was quote 'an insufferable shit'. Sherlock looked at the tea tray Mr Hudson had brought up with fresh scones, jam and cream. "Who would want to be flat mates with me?" Sherlock quirked her eyebrow at Mr Hudson. "Just a thought." Mr Hudson shrugged and headed off. Sherlock grabbed her ridding crop and headed down to the morgue, she had a cold case to deal with.


	5. Dr Michelle Stamford

Dr Michelle Stamford  
Michelle was a particular woman, extremely jolly yet always seemed to put her foot in her mouth. Reminded Sherlock of the horrible stereotypical 'Mrs Claus' you see at Christmas time, always cheerful and helpful. Always seemed to see the positive in people and thought Sherlock was joking. Then again she was a teaching peaditrican at St Bart's and let Sherlock use her computer regularly. Sherlock decided to complain about Mr Hudson's crazy idea of getting a flatmate, hoping to get rid of her but seriously who would want to share a flat with her. "I'm sure you'll find someone." Stamford replied cheerily patting her cheek as she headed off for lunch. Stamford really should lay off the iced donuts Sherlock thought as she rolled her eyes, always so bloody cheerily. Sherlock looked at the body on the slab, Mortimer said cause of death was 'natural causes' but something about the ex-IT's death didn't seem right. Didn't matter, Sherlock had bruises to examine and secretly a little stress to relieve as she pulled her ridding crop out. Stamford proved her foot in mouth even more so when she ran into Joan Watson while strolling through the park during her lunch break. "I got shot." Joan replied emotionless. Well shit, Michelle thought but Joan looked so lost, nothing like the man eater, adrenaline junky she was at University. Then again neither was Michelle, having three children under her belt plus teaching at St Bart's. Then the answer fell in her lap, she can introduce Joan to Sherlock. If Joan was even as half as adventurous as she was in uni the two of them would get along fantastically. Stamford even had a suspicion that Joan was Bisexual so maybe it could be the start of something between the two. The meeting went perfectly, Sherlock used her trick and deduced Joan and something perked up in Joan. Stamford left Joan in the foyer of Bart's with a bit more colour in her face as she headed to her next class.


End file.
